


He's Shooting At Shadows, Portraying A Proper Soldier Boy

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2018 (Complete) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Day 2 - bloody hands, Gen, Hurt/No Comfort, Prompto Whump, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:24:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: "C'mon punk," Gladio says, and Prompto looks at him. Gladio's looking at him like a brother again, one last time, eldest to youngest. He jabs the air with his chin. "Face it like a man. Face this like Noct faced going up those stairs."That shouldn't be reassuring, Prompto thinks. But it is. Really, it is.So he takes in a deep breath, and straightens his back. Stands proud before Gladio, before Noctis' crowning dawn, before Ignis.And Gladio looks at him one last time.Says, "Yeah, you're ready."And brings his sword down in one punishing move.





	He's Shooting At Shadows, Portraying A Proper Soldier Boy

They've been fighting for hours against wave after wave of daemons - their curatives have long run out, and Ignis has instead managed to get them wedged between four large chunks of rubble, with just enough room for them to slip in, and a single daemon to follow them. It's the only way they've been able to survive the onslaught, because for all they're strong enough to take these daemons, the sheer numbers are daunting.

Prompto doesn't let himself breathe between shots, barely lets himself breathe at all in that tiny dark corner. It's just shoot, shoot, shoot, and around him there's an eerie repetition to the screams and howls and  _thwack thwack thwack_ of blades against daemonic flesh. It's almost soothing. A Hunter's lullaby.

Never mind that their King is dead, and they're merely holding the line until dawn arrives. Until the sun finally returns to the world, and purges the last of the daemons for good. With Ardyn and Ifrit both gone, no more new ones should be able to be made, not with Niflheim down the tubes. The world's gone to shit, but in all the right ways, it seems, which is why they're here now, instead of in there with Noctis, dead by his side.

Truth be told, Prompto wishes he'd been allowed to stay by Noctis in the end. Though they've had their ups and downs on this long journey, all of them regret what's been allowed to transpire here. That Noctis must bring about the dawn with his own ruination, that Insomnia must move on from the days of monarchs and become something where the people rule themselves. Maybe Altissia's government will survive enough to take Insomnia under their banner, when all is said and done. 

Or maybe the people will make their own banner, and fly it in honor of their last King, who died to save them all.

 _It's not fair,_ Prompto thinks.

That, of course, is how he slips up.

Because his head is elsewhere, not on the daemons in front of him. Two manage to wedge into the crack instead of one, and one lashes out, razor-sharp talons catching Prompto in the side. He feels the initial sting, gasping with it, and then reeling back to lash out twice, taking both daemons out.

 _"Focus!"_ Gladio growls, and he sounds tired. Ready to drop. But he's still fighting. So Prompto will too. 

Even when his legs begin to tremble, and his side begins to burn. Even when his arms feel heavy, his skin feverish. He keeps firing, even when he coughs, and black gunk wells from between his lips.

 _The Scourge can be passed, you know,_ the memory of Ardyn crooning it lovingly to him comes back at once, a faded nightmare from so long ago.  _All it takes is the right amount of anger, and it will pass. I could show you. Show them what you'd be without all that lovely sanity in your head._

His breath stutters in his chest, cold panic sliding into his stomach like chunks of ice. He grits his teeth, and forces himself to keep firing.

On the distant eastern shore, a faint, pale light is beginning to show. The thinnest lines, the one that signaled it was four in the morning, and soon the sun would be up. They've made it through the night - now they must hold a couple more hours at most.

 _You can do this, Prompto,_ Prompto tells himself.  _Do it for Noct. He'd want you to survive this. He'd want you to see - to see his dawn. So that's what we're going to do. We'll see it._

Never mind that there's a good chance when dawn arrives, he'll vanish with the rest. That Gladio and Ignis will only have each other after this. That even after all this, after all the time spent and the proof shown, he is still the weakest link in this chain.

After all, neither Gladio nor Ignis would let themselves get Scourge'd like this. It only makes sense to call him weak when he does. 

Five o clock rolls around, the sky's pink hues rising into a lighter gradient of yellow. The blues begin to show at six. 

And then at last, at seven right on the dot, the sun comes up.

For a moment, all any of them can do is stare. Because it's so beautiful, and the daemons are screaming, hissing, frothing at the mouth as they flail and writhe and try to escape. One by one, they vanish. The screaming quiets. The thudding drum of Giants in the distance stops.

And then, there is silence. Peaceful, beautiful silence.

"Prompto."

It's Gladio's voice. Prompto realizes that voice. It's not the voice of his brother - it's the voice of a Hunter facing his mark.

He touches his side. 

It comes away stained black with Scourge.

He closes his eyes, and smiles. He's seen the dawn he promised himself he'd see. He held the line, like a good Crownsguard. Like a good friend. 

He opens his eyes, and sees regret in Gladio's face. Regret in the lines of Ignis' tightly pinched mouth. 

He smiles, even as tears, inky black, escape his eyes. 

"It's okay," he says, and lets his gun fall back into the void where the Armiger used to be. It won't ever come back, now. And that's okay too. He debates crying for a second, because this is the scary part. Death. The end. 

He doesn't know if he'll find Noctis on the other side, or--

Or if he'll wind up separate because of what he's become.

"C'mon punk," Gladio says, and Prompto looks at him. Gladio's looking at him like a brother again, one last time, eldest to youngest. He jabs the air with his chin. "Face it like a man. Face this like Noct faced going up those stairs."

That shouldn't be reassuring, Prompto thinks. But it is. Really, it is. 

So he takes in a deep breath, and straightens his back. Stands proud before Gladio, before Noctis' crowning dawn, before Ignis. 

And Gladio looks at him one last time.

Says, "Yeah, you're ready."

And brings his sword down in one punishing move.

There's a  _crunch,_ a feeling of weight on his shoulder shoving him down--

And then nothing.


End file.
